


God Punishes, I Beg for More

by someoriginalusername



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Secret Marriage, and then became estranged, and then got married, john and santino met 12 years prior to chapter 2 and began an affair, will explore the events of john wick chapter 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26550277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someoriginalusername/pseuds/someoriginalusername
Summary: “If we’re doing this, I want a prenup. You can make your deal with Viggo, but you’ll have to come up with a good reason for it without blowing our cover. I can’t guarantee he’ll go along with it."He paused."I want to see you more than once every two months, and I want more than just weekend trysts. We don’t have to move in together, but I want more of you,” John said, looking at his hands, and feeling as if all of the air was suddenly sucked out of the room.
Relationships: Santino D'Antonio/John Wick
Comments: 2
Kudos: 59





	1. Labour of Love

**Author's Note:**

> i started watching mozart in the jungle and saw rodrigo's relationship with his wife and was like lmao what if that was john and santino. anyways yea i was gonna write it all in one go but school just started so i decided to divide it into chapters. I'm finishing the 2nd one now so that should be up by tomorrow or Monday. also ye next two chapters will be a lot longer so here u go
> 
> keanu reeves if ur reading this i love you with my Whole Heart... pls answer my calls

John limps his way into The Continental not for the first time that week, with nothing but fire pumping through his veins. Were he a better man, he would book himself a room, punch a wall, call for a doctor, and drink until his ears stopped ringing. Had he attended the anger management classes and therapy Helen had desperately begged him to attend, he would put his gun down and settle his grievances after a few nights of resting and healing. However, John was never that man. No matter how hard he had tried to change and blend in with normal life within the past five years, he was and always will be this; a vessel of burning rage and violence. A harbinger of death.

It was easy enough during the five short years that John decided to play the role of a mild-mannered, law-abiding citizen. He had been officially retired; he bought a large, expensive home, took up book-binding, and even tried his hand in dating. He lived a good, if not a little monotonous, life. He realized more than once during those years that he would happily die living in that fantasy, as it gave him the peace he was never allowed to attain under the High Table. However, he also knew he had spent the entirety of those five years waiting for something. 

Helen had brought it up more than once, the way he would tune out of conversations, gazing at any exit closest to him as if someone or something would stride in and allow him to finally breathe easily in the new life he built. Of course, Helen knew of his past, or, what he carefully chose to disclose to her about it. At first, she could hardly believe it, but as they grew closer throughout the years, she began to see through the cracks of his façade. For reasons that are still beyond him, she had chosen to accept them, and not only had she quickly become one of the most important people in his life, but little by little she began to fill the hole within him that left him aching.

But Helen was gone, as was the dog she so graciously gifted him, and the home they shared during the later stages of her illness. The hole in him now was not only deeper, but excruciating in a way that did not render him paralyzed like it should, but left him enraged.

It is this rage that allowed him to kill more than two hundred people within the span of three days, this rage that allows him to no longer greet death as a friend but an adversary. It’s this rage that allows him to march up to the concierge, covered in blood with his gun drawn, his intentions clear in his tense demeanor, and announce who he is here to see. He can see the concern clear on his face, and yet Charon still directs him to the lounge. 

As soon as John catches sight of Santino, his mind goes blank. The mess of emotions the arrival of the Camorra leader stirred in him dissipates at once as he watches the other man arrogantly indulge in a steak dinner. His grip on his gun slowly tightens with each wave of pain that washes over him as he slowly descends the stairs towards the Italian, purposely ignoring the weight of the gun digging his wedding ring into his finger. 

He knows Santino is trying to get under his skin, as he’d been on the receiving end of his insolent teasing many times before, yet what the Italian did not realize was that where sentimentality had saved him from John’s wrath those many times before, in this very moment, John felt nothing but the familiar itch of his trigger finger. 

He can feel more than hear Winston’s presence behind him, as his complete attention is on the newly instated member of the High Table in front of him. The cocky gaze that once sparked excitement in him now does nothing but fuel the familiar fire in his veins that usually results in a hefty body count.

It’s when Santino’s gaze finally breaks away towards Winston, that John finally tunes into the hotel manager’s protests.

“Jonathan, just walk away…”

“Yes, _mio amore_. Walk…”

John raises his gun and pulls the trigger.

* * *

John and Santino had met twelve years earlier, and he knew from the beginning that it was a bad idea.

He sat at the bar of the Continental in Rome nursing a bourbon on the rocks after a successful job for the Bratva when a stunning young man approached him with a new drink in his hand and something akin to a challenge in his eyes; as if John was a personal goal to achieve. John was well aware of his reputation in their world, and how it attracted all sorts of characters with intentions that John would rather be garroted than indulge them with, but something in the younger man's surefire demeanor and elegant smile struck a flame in him. 

They sat, drank and talked for hours about everything; their preference of drinks, the job, whether the efficiency of a gun was sexier than the expertise of a blade, the latter being Santino's choice of discussion as John had never considered a weapon to be anything but a necessity for work, and even the High Table. He knew what Santino wanted, and hell, by even the third or fourth minute in the presence of the vivacious young man, John had even wanted it too.

Which is why by the third hour of their meeting, John had Santino against the luxurious wall of his hotel room panting into his ear while he rut against him, one leg in-between his own, biting off a moan as John bit into the juncture between his neck and shoulder before he fucked him into oblivion. They lounged around on his bed for a while before Santino had seemingly decided he wanted to see exactly how many surfaces he could get John to fuck him on or against in the spacious hotel room.

John has always considered it one of the greatest nights of his life. He liked the younger man's audacity and his dry humor. He was most definitely a little shit, but he was the first person to make John feel truly alive in the twisted world they lived in. The fact that Santino was also drop-dead gorgeous was just a bonus. John had never truly considered the aesthetics of other people until that point. Sure, he had eyes, and was able to recognize when he found someone attractive or not, but Santino’s graceful preference for all things extravagant contrasted his own rudimentary instincts in a way that left him hungry and yearning.

They were the exact opposites of each other, and most definitely each other's worst ideas, which is why a one night stand turned into a forty-eight hour tryst. which turned into a hefty weekend endeavor, which turned into them meeting up every other month for more weekend adventures in whatever city was most convenient for them both.

John would liken his longing for Santino to an addiction; when he had him in his lap or in his bed he was euphoric in a way he had never been before, and when he didn't, he was yearning for the scratch of his nails down his back or the burn of his biting kiss on his lips. It was overall utterly inconvenient. It hasn't affected his work ethic at all, he was still the proficient killer he always was, and he completed his jobs with the skill that could not be found anywhere else, but the minutes and the hours he continuously spent counting until he could have the young Camorra leader in his arms again was a disruption to his life that left him blindsided.

There was a point where he had even considered it love. John had never truly experienced it before, but the night Santino had marched into the hotel room they booked at the Continental in London and pounced on him before they fully said their hellos, and announced that he had been thinking about him and his mouth, and his hands every second since their last departure, had John feeling as if he had finally found the missing puzzle piece that he realized he was so desperately longing for in his life.

That night, after several rounds on any surface they could find, which had quickly become their routine that left John aching, in spite of his heavily physical profession, in several places due to his over forty years of age, Santino casually suggested eloping. John froze in the bed as Santino went on listing the pros and cons, and explaining how the pros out-weighed the cons; such as the alliance it would bring between the Bratva and the Camorra, and how when he would eventually win the seat at the High Table they would officially both be unstoppable forces. He went on and on, completely unaware of how John was unable to breathe.

Eventually, John was able to recover some semblance of repose, and he finally asked; "What's this about?"

The young man scowled at him, annoyed at being interrupted, "What do you mean? I just explained everything. You're telling me you missed all of that, John?" He huffed a fake laugh, "Maybe your old age is finally getting to your brain," he said as he reached over to brush the hair out of John's eyes, before kissing his forehead.

Momentarily shocked by the soft gesture, John had only blinked at the younger man.

At his silence, Santino sighed and shifted under the sheets, sitting up and looking away from him, a rare show of insecurity, reminding John of just how young he was. He wasn't even thirty yet.

After another moment of silence, Santino spoke again, his stiff demeanor betraying the sure tone of his voice; "I'm tired of waiting weeks upon weeks to see you again, and I hate that your safety is out of my control. I want to negotiate a deal with the Tarasovs that would allow you to work some jobs for us, so that we can end this hiding about. We are both grown men, John. There are no rules against this. We shouldn't have to act as if there are."

At the end of this tirade, which seemed as if it was something the man wanted to get off his chest for a long time, he huffed a breath and pointedly stared at the wall.

John took a minute to mull over the new information. He knew that Santino was more than aware that John could take care of himself, which had him questioning the sincerity of the other man's supposed concern for his well-being. He knew that Santino at least liked him in some way, otherwise he wouldn't even bother giving him the time of day, but the other man was tricky in the way that he truly only cared about himself and his own agenda. John has learned that from the first night he spent with him. It didn’t bother John too much, as it was how he was raised to be, but it did leave him suddenly second-guessing Santino's intentions with this affair.

He realized it had been a long time since he had said anything, as Santino had gone twitchy. He finally pulled himself up in the bed as well, and carefully chose the right words to say next.

"And you're sure your father would be okay with this?"

As soon as he asked the question, he knew it was the wrong thing to ask. The younger man whipped his head to stare at him incredulously, before scoffing and throwing the sheets back to hop off the bed. 

"You know, John, for one of the world's greatest assassins you sure are dense sometimes," Santino bit out as he scrounged around the discarded pile of clothes on the floor to find his pack of smokes.

John did feel a bit guilty for asking, knowing that his family was a touchy subject for the other man, especially his father. He knew him and his sister were as close as siblings could be with an eight year age difference in a household where they were raised to view each other as competition, and he knew Santino flat out refused to discuss his father outside of terms of business, but he also knew that the male heir of the D'Antonio fortune and family business running away with another man, let alone one with John's reputation, would do much more than raise a few eyebrows back home in Italy. 

"Do you need a dictionary? Eloping; to run off and get married without the knowledge of family and friends. It's a pretty well known concept, John. The point is my father would not know," Santino huffed as he fished out what he was looking for in the pocket of his pants and lit a cigarette. 

John briefly looked at the 'No Smoking' sign just a few inches away from where Santino was crouching on the floor, before looking back at him as he continued on. 

"He doesn't need to know, it's none of his business," he said, before settling down on the chaise lounge across from the bed.

John didn't want to bring up how it would be nearly impossible for him not to find out, as there was already talk about their not-so-secret trysts that have lasted for a year now. John didn't care for gossip, he never did, and everyone around him knew better than to bring such a personal aspect of his life up in conversation, but he has on more than one occasion wondered how Santino was coping with such gossip. 

Santino blew out a cloud of smoke and brushed his curls out of his eyes before casually dropping; "Besides, he already knows about us." 

John all but felt his jaw drop to the floor.

"Oh."

Santino snorted, "'Oh'"? _Mio Dio_ , you've really got a way with words." 

Santino took John's stunned silence as encouragement to go on.

"A couple weeks ago he called me into his office, as if I was a student being reprimanded might I add, and started questioning my frequent trips 'disappearing acts that had only just started happening within the last year'. That's also bullshit, by the way. I'm not exactly frugal, nor have I ever been," he took a huff of his cigarette, "but apparently someone has caught on to us being in the same cities at the same time, and decided to disclose this with my father."

Santino angrily huffed out another cloud of smoke, "and I've already interrogated the managers of each Continental we've stayed at, and if it was any of them, then they've done a damn good job of hiding it." 

John allowed the other man to finish his cigarette, "What did your father say?" 

Santino sat back in the chaise lounge and closed his eyes, as if he'd rather be anywhere but here, having this conversation.

"He said 'congratulations!' and shook my hand, your flowers are in the mail, by the way, they'll be here any day now," he said, sardonically.

"Did he…"

"Did he yell? Scream? Forbid me from ever seeing you again and from ever involving myself in any business with the Bratva? Yes, all of the above." 

John had expected this, but it still hurt to hear. He didn't know what to say, he hardly ever knew what to say, which is why he often preferred not to speak at all. He wanted to grab the other man and hold him, but that was something they did only after coming down from a three-in-one go when they were on the verge of falling asleep. 

He looked at Santino, and with all of the sincerity he could muster, said; "I'm sorry."

Santino, now with his arm over his eyes, huffed another mirthless laugh, "Don't be, it's not your fault." 

John shifted under the sheets, "It kind of is, though."

This made Santino finally shift out of his reclined position as he placed his elbows on his knees and looked John in the eye.

"No, it is not, because if it was 'kind of' your fault, then it would also be 'kind of' my fault, and that it is not." 

John could understand the anger, it was a shitty situation.

"Yet you still came." 

At this, all of the frustration that was building inside of Santino seemingly ran out at once as he looked at John in wonder, before shaking his head and smiling. John loved it when he did that.

"And yet, I still came," he agreed, before lifting himself off the lounge and joining him again in the bed.

As Santino slid into his arms, John couldn’t help but murmur, “Your dad’s a dick,” into the mess of the other man’s curls, startling a laugh out of him.

This time, John got to actually hold him, as he sat up against the front of the bed with Santino resting his head on his chest, allowing John to run his hand through his hair. The younger man turned on the TV, and flipped through the channels before settling on the news. He even ordered room service for the both of them, allowing them to have a peaceful night in, something they both rarely got to have. 

The next morning, however, John woke up to an empty bed. He sat up quickly before he recognized the sound of the shower running, and decided to join him.

"Good morning, Mr. Wick," Santino greeted him in a cheeky tone as John slid up behind him and wrapped his arms around him.

John hummed, "Don't call me that."

"Why? Was Mr. Wick your father?"

With that, John bit the side of his neck, causing Santino to yelp in surprise before swatting him away. When the younger man turned around to face him, he brought him into a searing kiss. 

Before the kiss got too heavy, into a territory that John was hoping to get into, Santino broke away and looked at him through hooded eyes. He traced his hands up John's arms before reaching his chest, tracing shapes into his pecs.

"Don't think I haven't realized that you haven't given me an answer yet, _tesoro,_ " he said before nipping John on the edge of his chin.

John could feign ignorance, but he had a feeling that would only get Santino frustrated like he was the day before. He groaned and dropped his head on the younger man’s shoulder.

“I’m not saying no, I just don’t think we should elope as a means to get back at your father.”

He felt the other man stiffen under him, and all but push him away as he turned around to turn off the water before abruptly leaving the shower stall. John remained were he stood and sighed, knowing he had upset the other man. He contemplated his next steps, as if he were on a job. John had a few arrangements like this before, but none of them involved this much tiptoeing around what the relationship meant to both parties and how it affected everyone involved. He once again carefully picked what he would say next as he finally left the shower and wrapped a towel around himself.

At first, he feared Santino fled the suite as his clothes were nowhere to be found and the room was empty, but he relaxed when he saw the man walk back into the bedroom, tucking his shirt into his designer pants, and barking orders into his cellphone. John sat on the edge of the bed, waiting until the other man was done his tirade. From what he could hear, Santino was both ordering a car to pick him up, and telling whomever to grill the Management of the hotel about the supposed rat in their midst. John waited patiently, contemplating the logistics of a quick marriage on the whim. He could probably get Winston to officiate the ceremony, either at the Continental in New York or at whatever chapel Santino deemed fit, as he had a feeling the Italian would want a proper ceremony in a church. They could bribe a priest that operates in their world. 

They would have to make sure the official paperwork would be done by trustworthy people, which is extremely difficult to find in such an establishment. They could bribe them as well, put the fear of god in whichever poor soul decided to pick up the phone at work that day. Or, Santino would probably prefer to do that in person to make it especially effective. Just as John began contemplating ring fittings, and whether or not he would be wearing it daily, Santino ended his phone call and stepped around him to get his watch sitting on the night stand. They were in pointed silence until John cleared his throat.

“If we’re doing this, I want a prenup. You can make your deal with Viggo, but you’ll have to come up with a good reason for it without blowing our cover. I can’t guarantee he’ll go along with it."

He paused.

"I want to see you more than once every two months, and I want more than just weekend trysts. We don’t have to move in together, but I want more of you,” he said, looking at his hands, and feeling as if all of the air was suddenly sucked out of the room.

Santino paused in his place. John was almost bracing for a thwack to the head, before the other man slowly walked over to face him and fell to his knees. All traces of irritation were gone from his face as he grabbed John’s hands and kissed the back of each palm before looking at him with a dazzling smile. In that moment, John realized he would do anything for this beautiful, contemptuous man that he had only known for a year.

“ _Mio amore_ ,” he said in between kisses to each individual finger, “you can and will have everything and anything you want. From now on, you won’t have to yearn for anything ever again. I will get you everything you need, everything.”

John felt something bubbling up at the back of his throat, ready to spill out, not caring the outcome of whether or not it would be too early. He figured saying it during a technical marriage proposal would be as good of a time as any, but before he could brace himself for such a moment, the younger man’s lips were on his, and any other thought was quickly forgotten, including the car Santino had called not even five minutes earlier. He was quickly undressed, and they soon lost themselves in pre-marital bliss.


	2. Day and Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "i will update probably tomorrow or monday" well that was a bald-faced lie............................ i am so sorry i genuinely have no excuse as to why i almost abandoned this other than "birth is a curse and existence is a prison" so... yeah. anyways! ive decided im actually going to finish this bc i got a comment so sweet i almost cried so thank u ao3 user veraline for being the one other person who cares abt this fic <3 
> 
> also uhh i know i said this would be like 3 rlly long chapters but uhhh its probably gonna be around 4 or 5 now and this ones super short bc its all i could pump out to get myself back into the groove so the next few chapters will b longer

The following day of the botched marriage proposal, Santino was well into planning mode. In between their physical endeavors, they discussed whether they should file for a civil partnership or for a marriage. They had limited amount of spaces in which either unions or marriages would be recognized for them in the traditional governments of Europe and North America, and John liked the haste of a simple union. Fortunately for them, however, the network they operated in allowed such unions or marriages to be legally recognized anywhere they choose in such continents. Santino, as John expected, gravitated towards the grandiosity of a wedding, and was willing to wait however long it took to have a marriage registered.

John had little say in the planning of the nuptials, as he would have been fine with settling for a quick procession in Vegas if Santino had miraculously agreed to such an idea. However, Santino was Santino, therefore the mere thought of such a rushed, tacky union was unspeakable to the cultured younger man. Santino would probably end the union entirely and put a bounty on his head had he uttered the thought. John was fine with staying out of the planning, only being needed when it came to filing the legalities of the arrangement. If anything, John was looking forward to what the young crimelord could come up with in a short amount of time. He was also glad that preparations allowed him to spend more time with his fiancé, a word he had never before thought would apply to him or anyone else in his life.

Their civil wedding was held three months later, in Santino’s hometown of Naples. The ceremony was performed at the Capella Sansevero by Julius, the manager of the Continental in Rome, as he was one of the few people both men knew and trusted enough to not let word of their union get out. A marriage ceremony under the High Table allowed for the wedding party to consist of just the couple and the officiant, which had annoyed John a little as he would’ve liked to invite Marcus, or even Winston and Charon, to the ceremony. After all, normal people invited their loved ones to such events. John wouldn’t necessarily call them loved ones, but they were the closest thing he had to them. Santino had discussed how such appearances in one city would raise some unwanted concerns, which he couldn’t argue with.

Overall, the ceremony was beautiful yet brief. John had never been to the chapel museum Santino had chosen, and despite never being an art person, John found himself floored by the art surrounding them. They were surrounded by various striking marble statues depicting what John assumed were religious figures. Santino caught John marveling at the artwork on the roof of the chapel just before the ceremony began.

“I never took you for a lover of art,” he approached him with a charmed grin. John looked at him in wonder.

“How did you pull this off?” John asked, immediately recognizing it was a stupid question. Santino continued to beam at him.

“Money and inflicting the fear of god goes a long way, John,” Santino reached forward to fix his already perfectly done tie, before pulling him in for a gentle kiss, “You should know that by now,” he murmured against his lips.

John elected to deepen the kiss instead of offering a reply, fully aware that they were meters away from a sculpture of Jesus Christ. Just as Santino’s tongue was beginning to make John forget where they were and why, they were interrupted by a clearing of the throat. Julius politely stood at the entrance of the room with a large book in hand.

“My deepest apologies for the interruption, but we are running on a strict schedule,” he says, walking in and pointedly avoiding eye contact.

Santino scoffed, before dropping his head onto John’s shoulder. He then abruptly turned around, “Were you standing there the whole time?” he remarked snidely.

The ceremony began and ended within the span of 20 minutes, which was a pity as John would’ve liked to stay and explore the rest of the museum with his new spouse. Santino, however, had different plans. As soon as the service was over, Santino slid his arm into John’s and walked him towards the exit, before John could even consider giving his thanks to Julius for agreeing to help them. John figured he could send flowers.

“ _Gesù cristo_ , it feels like they’re all watching us,” Santino shuddered as they passed by the marble statues.

“Then why did you choose this place?”

Santino remained quiet as they approached the exit, before he stopped in his place and turned to John.

“My father used to take us here when we were younger. He would rent the whole place out just for us three,” he said facing John, but avoiding his eyes.

“We’d roam around for hours in silence, not a single word uttered between any of us as my sister and I pretended to care about what we were staring at. It was always more for him than it was us, but we always knew the purpose of these visits; a reminder. Yes, we live in this world of sin but we have a purpose. Through these acts of cardinal sins we are maintaining order and utilizing our birthrights. A divinity lives within us that we must honor and nourish in order to do right by Him and what He has given us. My father always used to say it does not matter if we believe in god or not, as he certainly believes in us, and after years of contemplation I’ve come to realize that it does not matter if you are religious or believe in a higher being. We make our gods, and we are our gods. What is a god if not the personification of that which we strive to achieve? Everyone is born with a purpose to maintain a form of order, and if one does not honor this purpose, then we do not honor ourselves. This is what separates us from the animals, John. The recognition of our greatness and our potential, and the ability to be able to achieve this greatness through maintaining order.”

John contemplated these words in silence,

“Do you consider yourself a god?” John finally asked.

Santino snorted, “Contrary to popular belief, I do not. I do, however, recognize the greatness within me to reach sanctity. A greatness that you also possess, _mio amore_ ,” He placed a warm hand on his cheek and leaned in to leave a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek.

“That is why I chose this place, John. To show you that our shared greatness will result in nothing but divinity,” the young man whispered into his ear, causing him to shiver.

John didn't know how he felt at the thought of possessing any sort of sacredness. All his life he perceived himself as nothing but a weapon; an instrument of death. All he ever seemed to bring was death and destruction in a world of indistinguishable chaos. This is all he's ever known.

And yet, the soft, adoring touch of the younger man had brought him closer to any belief in a holy being than any sacrament he's heard before.


End file.
